The Adventure of the Hellcat Harpy
by Bella Bragge
Summary: When Holmes saw to the arrest of an aristocratic race horse thief, he thought the case was closed. But what will he do when the former fiancee of the thief threatens him with murder? Also an innocent man is dead with only the prisoner as a suspect.
1. Chapter 1

**_First story on in six or seven years! I'm so excited to share with everyone! I'll get my disclaimer out of the way. None of the characters in this story belong to me except for Bella Bragge. The character Sara Black belongs to my sister, everfaraway. Thanks so much, and I hope you guys enjoy!_**

Sherlock Holmes was up late again scraping away on his violin, much to the annoyance of his roommate who was lying wide awake in bed, listening, with growing irritability, to Holmes "practice". What had the man in such a knot? There was no case he had been solving as of late. Maybe that was the problem, with his "mind rebelling against stagnation" and all that.

Ever since the last case in which Holmes had caught a man who was making quite a fortune stealing race horses and selling them under different names, Holmes had been in his present slump. It had been quite a feat, of course, to catch the thief, but now Holmes had seemingly solved all the interesting cases London had to offer and was stir crazy, wanting of occupation. The man wasn't short on money. The owners of the race horses had paid him quite handsomely with the return of their prized ponies. But with nothing to do with his mind, money was not what made Holmes happy.

Several blocks away, Sara, a gypsy-born childhood friend of Sherlock Holmes, released her pet raven into the night sky. Clutched in its beak was a note that said, "Come if convenient…if inconvenient, come all the same." It took the bird only a few moments to find 221B Baker Street and to land on one of the window sills. Quickly, the raven began to peck the glass pane.

Holmes started at the sound of the raven and crept to the window. When he realized what it was, he shook his head and opened the window to draw the bird into the room. He read the note taken from the bird and thought for a moment. Sara's handwriting was deliberate, clever. Unhurried. She wasn't in trouble. Her need for him wasn't urgent, despite the wording. He considered his violin, setting the note down on the table. He lifted the bow to the instrument and scraped one short "note" before the door opened.

"Blast it, Holmes, I've put up with it for three nights in a row. Three nights! Please, for God's sake, put away the damn thing!" hissed Watson, his eyes red with lack of sleep.

Holmes carefully observed his comrade and said, as if he hadn't heard Watson, "I've just received a note from Sara."

Watson sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "Is she all right?"

"I'm sure she is, but why would she have need of me?"

"Why don't you take the time to walk the few blocks to her home and see?" asked Watson in a manner of explaining something simple to a child.

"I'm…busy…"

"Holmes," snapped Watson, taking a step toward him.

Sherlock stood, holding his violin behind his back and said, "I believe I will be visiting my dear friend Sara this evening. So glad I thought of it."

"Right," said Watson quietly, shaking his head. He turned from the room and went to get himself a drink from the kitchen.

Sherlock dressed himself in his usual rough around the edges attire and snatched up his keys and wallet before hastening downstairs.

"Don't wait up," said Holmes from the kitchen door.

"I won't," replied Watson.

Holmes tucked Sara's letter into his inner pocket and left for her shop. He didn't take a cab. It was only a few blocks.

Sara had left her door unlocked for Holmes, knowing he would be there shortly. Her shop smelled of incense and was considerably warmer than the outside weather. There was music being played in the back room from a phonograph. A few of her gypsy friends were in town, and she had guaranteed them a place to sleep and meals, as her mother had before her. The only thing that was out of place was the body under the sheet in her back room, which the gypsies were gathered around.

Holmes entered Sara's apartment that was built over the oddities store she ran and let the overpowering smell of incense wash over him, giving him a perfumed headache. The warmth always made him feel sleepy and slow, though still more observant than the average man. He could hear the sounds from the back room, and thinking Sara might have company, he went to stand in the doorway. He considered the scene momentarily, knowing Sara would notice him.

Sara glanced over her shoulder at him and whispered, "Come in. There's a body I need you to look at. My friends brought him to me, hoping I could heal him, but he passed away before I could do anything. We believe it to be poison."

Her dark hair was up in a bandanna and instead of her usual red and gold skirts with white or cream colored shirts, she wore a black skirt with a blue top in mourning. Her bangles flashed in the dim lights when she moved toward Holmes.

Holmes turned back the cover over the body and said, "Poison indeed. Cyanide poisoning."

He opened the mouth and peered down the throat.

"It appears as though he's done it himself," said Holmes, "Though I could be mistaken."

"But why? He was a healer… He taught me all I know," she said, kneeling beside the body.

"I am aware that he is a healer," said Holmes, "I'm not sure as to why. He must not have taken a very heavy dose if he was still alive when he was brought to you." He peeled back the remainder of the cover and dropping it to the ground.

"Just barely," she whispered, lighting more candles so he could work, "Where's your doctor friend tonight?"

"Watson is currently drifting away into a peaceful and much needed slumber, no doubt," sighed Holmes, "I came alone."

She nodded and asked, "Would you like some tea? I recently got an exotic blend from the east."

"Yes, some tea would be excellent," said Holmes, following her into her kitchen.

"What would drive Mikelo to poison himself?" she whispered, putting a kettle on to boil.

"It's quite possible he was forced to take the poison, or perhaps he was given a 'medicinal' tablet and was a bit too trusting of the giver," replied Holmes in a low voice, leaning against the sideboard, "Was he depressed? Was he one for suicidal tendencies?"

"Mikelo? No. You remember him…or at least you should. He took us through the forests around my mother's home out in the country when we were children and the gypsies were camped out back," she said, dabbing at her eyes.

"I vaguely remember him. You know how distant my childhood memories are," said Holmes carefully.

Repressed was a better choice of wording, and he kept the memories that way happily.

"I suppose this means you'd like me to find out what actually happened to him."

"Please," she whispered.

"If you want to know the truth," said Holmes, "I might already have a thought about who did it, though I'd hate to accuse the man wrongly. Even if he were correctly accused, he is currently already serving life in prison."

"So he had outside help perhaps?" she guessed, pulling the kettle off the stove and pouring water over the new tea blend.

"It's quite possible, although most of them have been locked away as well, though not for life. I suspect the man from my previous case, the one responsible for the thievery of race horses. They were smuggling them through the woods, and it's possible our gypsy friend may or may not have seen something he shouldn't have. The smugglers were dressed as peasants and gypsies, and they may have approached him in a friendly manner, in which case he may have taken a tablet from them in trust. The tablet contained cyanide in a small dose, which would cause him to become ill, then fall into a coma, and then to die. The men were put away just two days ago, and your friend was probably dying for two to three days. The numbers add up quite nicely."

Sara wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking. "Then we really can't trust anybody that we don't know anymore," she whispered.

"We never could," said Holmes, "I will investigate of course, to be sure I'm persecuting the right man. It's only a theory after all, but it is highly likely. Sara, I know you aren't one for dances and neither am I, but in order to question the man in question, I need permission from a rather difficult man to persuade. There is a ball to which I was invited two evenings from tonight, and I was hoping you might accompany me. If I bring you along, then perhaps I will not be bombarded with questions as to how I reach my phenomenal conclusions as the men will not want to bore a lady with such matters."

"Where and for whom is this ball to be held?" she asked.

"The ball is to be held at the governor's manor. It is in celebration that all the horses have been returned to rightful owners," said Holmes, pulling his pipe from within his coat and lighting it.

Sara sighed and took a sip of her tea. "To find out why Mikelo was killed, I suppose I must," she whispered, sitting down to her little table and watching Holmes, "How long has it been since you slept, Sherlock?"

Holmes did not answer the question but continued to smoke in silence. It has been two or three days since he'd slept. This lack of activity had taken a toll on him, and he found it most difficult to sleep when his mind was this way. The silence terrified him. He needed noise.

Sara sighed again, stood, and gently slid her arms around his waist, leaning gently against his chest. They were occasional lovers, but they were friends as well, and she felt perfectly comfortable trusting him enough to relax with him.

Holmes didn't return her embrace, but he allowed her to lean against him. He'd long been considering his feelings for Sara, how odd their relationship was. Holmes wondered if he was in love with her, if she was "the one" with whom he was supposed to be. He wondered whether he was supposed to be with anyone at all. He wondered what would happen between them if he was to find someone else. Would she be his friend? Would she be his lover? What would happen? But then again, he supposed it didn't matter, as he wasn't ready to settle down and wasn't sure if he ever would be.

"I know your mind rebels against it, but you need sleep. And I'm sure Watson would complain if you came in so late and went about making a lot of noise instead of sleeping. And…I'm not quite ready to send you home," she whispered. Her feelings for Holmes were somewhere between adoration and love, having moved away from lust years ago.

Holmes nodded and said, "I see. I'm not sure what you are insinuating, but I won't protest. I don't feel up to walking back to Baker Street, and Watson has already put up quite a fuss as it is this evening. I think he expects me to spend the night here."

"Sleep and only sleep. I don't want to keep my guests awake since they are staying the night," she told him with a tone that held no argument.

"Sleep is best," agreed Holmes. His pipe had gone out, and he put it away. Then he made his way upstairs, kicking off his shoes at the bedroom door, pulling his jacket and hat off and placing them in their usual resting places.

Sara pulled off her blouse and skirt, pulling on a gown in their place. She removed her jewelry and bandana before placing them on her bedside table.

"Night Mama," she whispered, blowing a kiss to the picture on her dresser.

Holmes removed his suspenders and shirt before crawling into bed next to her, blowing out the candle and settling down with a sigh. Sara rested her head against his chest and curled up against him. If she could crawl into be beside him a few nights a week, it made her happy.

_**Please R&R! You guys are the best. Next chapter will be up soon, I promise.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I know this chapter isn't as long as the first one, but please R&R. I'd love your feedback! Thanks!**_

The next morning, Holmes let himself out of the shop quietly to do a bit of research before the ball. He disappeared frequently, and he left a note telling Sara that he would be by to pick her up in two evenings.

Sara shook her head when she read the note and dug through her closet to decide what to wear to the ball before she opened shop for the day.

In two evenings, as promised though a bit late, a cab pulled up in front of Sara's shop, and Holmes emerged from within, going to knock on the door.

"Coming," Sara called as she put the last bobby pin in her hair. She had tied it in an intricate bun and chosen a modest gold blouse and crimson skirt for the ball.

"You look very nice," said Holmes when Sara came to the door. He offered her his arm. "Thank you for accompanying me this evening. I couldn't have endured it without your company."

"I wouldn't have done it for anyone else," she said, taking his arm.

Holmes opened the cab door for her, helping her inside and climbing in after her. He was quite on the ride to the mansion, pondering whether he'd get close enough to the general for his attendance to be worthwhile. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with too many questions about how he'd caught the horse-stealing culprit.

Sara rode in silence as well. She had shied away from large social gatherings in the past few years since her mother had died. Before then she had sung and danced for large groups, even managing to perform for a few hired outdoor gatherings despite the fact that she was a gypsy.

When they arrived, Holmes offered his arm once again to Sara when they had stepped from the cab, and he escorted her to the front doors. Servants opened the large double doors for them and they were led into the ballroom. It was a spacious room, and there were many gathered, though the room was not crowded. Some were dancing. Some were gathered in groups, gossiping. Some were taking refreshments.

After Holmes and Sara greeted the governor and thanked him for inviting them, Holmes went to get drinks for himself and Sara so that they wouldn't have to dance and could stand apart from everyone without appearing snobby.

Sara's eyes flickered over everyone present carefully. She kept a small knife hidden in one of the folds of her shirt sleeve, just in case whoever had poisoned her friend made trouble.

After standing apart for quite some time, a flamboyant group of young ladies approached them. Holmes, of course, kept quite a level head, as he was far from amused and was in reality quite bored with the twittering of the young single women (though they tried very hard to crack open his solemn disposition). But when the band struck up a livelier dance, one of the women snatched Holmes by the arm and steered him onto the dance floor much against his will. The dance was fast-paced and social, as with every stanza played, it was the tradition to change partners with the couple next to you.

Sara smiled and stepped out to the dance floor, slipping into the arms of another young gentleman nearby Sherlock and his current floozy. The music reminded her of a stuffier, more aristocratic version of the music she had often danced to by firelight.

Holmes was forced to switch partners three times, the third partner being Sara, and at the end of the stanza came the final switch. Sara was pulled from him by another eager young man captivated by her beauty, and he soon found a different young woman in his arms. He danced with her, keeping a careful eye out for the General, his purpose in attending the ball far from forgotten.

"Sherlock Holmes."

His newest dance partner's voice brought him back from his watch, and he felt his stomach drop. In his arms was a tiny young woman of the most delicate composition with the palest skin and the whitest blonde hair done up in an elegant twist. Her eyes were quite large and the brightest of blues, usually the epitome of innocence but now afire with blatant hatred and fury, her pouty lips twisted in a judgmental frown.

"Ah. Mrs….Bragge. How…how do you do this evening?" whispered Holmes in an airy manner.

"Well, I'd correct you and say Mrs. Girard, but I'm afraid I am not Mrs. Girard, no thanks to you," hissed the girl.

"Oh?" murmured Holmes, bracing himself, "Oh, that's not so good. I'm quite sorry for your loss, though I'm unsure why you-"

"You robbed me," she snarled.

"R-Robbed? No, I'm quite certain I-"

"Of my wedding night."

Holmes gulped. How should a gentleman respond to such an accusation? This was not a subject of which ladies spoke, nor should they. At that moment, the song ended, and there was much cheering and clapping around them for the speed and accuracy of the musicians. Holmes made to move away, but a waltz began, and Bella snatched his arm and jerked him close, her nails digging sharply into his arm.

"I should kill you," hissed the beautiful blonde in his ear so quietly and so venomously only he could hear, "I should destroy you."

"Well," replied Holmes, "If you did, you might be able to arrange a double cell in prison with your fiancé, in which case you might not be robbed of your wedding night after all…though I'm afraid you won't have quite as many horses."

Her nails dug into his shoulder and he winced, stumbling slightly though they continued the dance. Across the room, Sara's eyes flicked to Sherlock when she saw him stumble. She caught his eye as she danced with another young man.

Sherlock hadn't looked directly at Sara. He'd turned his head for a second because he'd thought Bella might slap him. She was livid with fury. Holmes didn't usually take young women seriously. After all, they were giggly, flirtatious, and unrealistic. Bella, on the other hand, had never been one to take lightly. The pride and joy of Governor Bragge, she'd been raised without a mother. Bella had been raised as not only the only daughter, but also the only son, and though she came in the package of a delicate lady, she possessed the knowledge, the temper, and the drive of a man.

"I'm afraid your fiancé was in the wrong, stealing ponies. I did not arrest him," said Sherlock, defending himself against her hellfire, "I merely provided the evidence. If you are angry with anyone, it should be him."

"Why should I be angry with him? He has done me no wrong. He has loved me and cared for me as every man should for his love."

"Yes, but if he hadn't broken the law, he wouldn't be locked away from you now."

"You misunderstand. He wouldn't be locked away…if he hadn't been caught."

"The man was stealing race horses from not only your father but your father's friends as well."

"They have money without their precious horses, and they might even have more were it not for their horses. I believe Stephen was doing them a favor by taking the horses off their hands."

"Perhaps you _should _be in prison alongside him."

"Convict me. I dare you to discover evidence against me. You have no proof that I knew a thing nor that I participated in anything."

"Did you?"

"Of course not, Holmes. It doesn't matter. I was to be married, you wretched man. I was to be the wife of the richest man who wasn't of royalty in London. And now, thanks to you, no one will have me for fear I cause bad luck."

"Are you sure? I mean a girl so sweet as you should have no trouble finding a new beau. You've been so sweet to me this evening, after all."

Her claws dug into his neck this time, and Holmes winced.

"Make no mistake, Holmes," she whispered so closely and deeply into his ear that he felt her breath caress his earlobe, "I will destroy you."

He could smell French tulips, apple blossoms, and pink champagne in her perfume, and he could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against him, and her fingernails were digging into the back of his neck, and her heated breath was on his throat. And then the song was over. She extracted herself from his arms. He hadn't realized he was holding onto her so tightly, hadn't noticed he'd begun to sweat. He turned in her direction just in time to see her exiting the room, the hem of her velvet burgundy gown whipping around the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

_**R&R. Please and thank you! The story continues. I know it's a little slow right now, but it picks up very soon, I promise.**_

Sara excused herself from her dance partner's arms and went to Holmes. "Are you all right?" she asked, "Who was that? What happened?"

Holmes snatched a strong drink from a servant walking by and downed it in one.

"That…was a monster," said Holmes. He cleared his throat and explained.

"Miss Bella Bragge, Governor Bragge's only child before his wife's untimely demise. She's…she's…quite interesting." Holmes downed another drink and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief.

Sara led him outside, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, and gently pressed it to the back of his neck.

"She left claw marks on you," she whispered, pulling the handkerchief away to show him blood droplets.

"Understandably," said Holmes quietly once they were in the cool, quiet garden, "The horse thief, Stephen Girard, was her fiancé who is no longer her fiancé, of course."

He winced at the sting of his sweat dripping into the scratches on the back of his neck, but the night air felt good, and checking to see nobody was around, he unbuttoned several of the buttons from the top of his shirt and shed his jacket, letting the breeze wash over him.

Sara pressed the handkerchief back to the scratches and smiled appreciatively. Gingerly she let her free hand slide down and slip into one of his hands. Holmes squeezed her hand before taking the handkerchief from his neck.

"I'd like to think she's guilty of assisting her husband in his crimes, though I know for a fact she isn't. Hm…I'm also trying not to take her threats seriously, though I can't help but consider that she meant every word she so furiously hissed into my ear."

"You put her fiancé in jail, Sherlock. Of course she's going to mean her threats. Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned," she reminded him.

Holmes sighed. "Once I've cooled down, let's try to speak with the General. Perhaps we'll have some luck now that the majority of the dancing is over. He might be intoxicated, in which case our luck greatly increases."

"Is he a friendly and talkative drunk?" she asked, crouching to kneel at a rosebush.

"Yes, and he quite adores beautiful young women. Chances are he'll be flirting with one who is rather disgusted with him, and we will have a chance to step in," said Holmes.

She looked over her shoulder at him with a cocked eyebrow. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he was planning.

"Don't worry. I'm not asking you to do what you think I'm asking you to do," said Holmes, puffing at his pipe, "Though he may be more interested in talking to the both of us rather than talking to me alone."

"As long as I don't have to flirt with him, and as long as he keeps his hands to himself. They can look but not touch," she sighed. She stood and added with a smirk, "Except for you."

Holmes finished smoking his pipe and put it away, getting up and leading the way back into the ballroom. The General was standing at the edge of the gathering of aristocrats, his face red with drink, his bald head shining in the light. He was twirling his walrus-like mustache while doing his best to impress the delicate young Bella. Upon seeing Bella speaking with the General, Holmes hesitated, but he gulped down his fear and proceeded with caution.

Sara pulled a few bobby pins loose to let a bit of her hair drop and fall over her shoulders to make herself look more appealing. Her dark skin, dark hair, and hazel eyes made her naturally stand out from any crowd in London and her choice of clothing colors made her stand out even more. She had seen the looks men had been giving her since they arrived.

"Bless my soul," smiled the General jovially when he spotted Holmes and Sara approaching, "Holmes, who is this charming young woman you've brought with you? If it isn't just my luck, spending the evening with the two most beautiful young women in London!"

Bella had snapped her burgundy and black fan from within the folds of her dress, and she was fanning herself. The General took it to mean she was flustered and giddied by him. He chuckled loudly and said, "Oh, don't act like you don't know! The two of you are certainly the most beautiful women in London! And now that your cad of a fiancé has been taken away, perhaps you'll give a gentleman a chance!"

Bella didn't answer. She was, in reality, fanning herself to hide from the General the look of pure hatred with which she was piercing Holmes, and she had ignored the General's flirting completely. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and edged away from her so that Sara was between the two of them.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure, General," Sara said sweetly, ignoring Bella.

"General George Martin, at your service," said the General, kissing Sara's hand, "And don't tell me. You're Sara Black. Yes, Holmes is always banging on about you. I know very well who you are. I'm so glad you decided to accompany him tonight so that we might have a chance to meet."

Sara gave a quick glance to Sherlock and said, "I'm happy to know he speaks so fondly of me."

Holmes cleared his throat, shrugging and muttering something.

"Oh, don't give me that!" chuckled the General, slapping Holmes on the back, "You speak of her all the time! _All_ the time!"

"If you'll excuse me," said Bella quietly with the sugary sweetness of a toxin coated candy.

"Don't tell me you're off to dance with Lord Hamrick again!" called the General after her as she hurried away, her heels clicking on the tile. But Bella didn't answer.

"Not feeling too well, I don't think," said Holmes, "Earlier during our dance, she mentioned she wasn't feeling well."

"Ah, I see," said the General, turning to Sara, "At least I still have you, My Dear. Although it seems I'll have to fight Holmes for you, seeing as he's so fond of you. Dear Bella's hand presents less of a challenge currently, though she's dancing around the fact that the two of us were made for each other! I could tame her hardheadedness as a gentleman! That brute of her former fiancé would only fuel the unruliness of that girl."

Holmes had developed a twitch in his eye and cheek, but at the mention of Stephen Girard, he seemed to snap back into the conversation. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, General Martin, speaking of the murderous Mr. Girard-"

"-He always was one for strange behaviors. Can never trust the Germans, I say! Never trust them! There's something about that devilish glint in their eyes. Her mother was a German, you know! Bella a German! Perhaps that's the barbarian showing through!"

"Actually, I believe her mother was Scandinavian, wasn't she? But that's beside the point," said Holmes, "I've stumbled across evidence recently suggesting that Mr. Girard was responsible for the murder of several innocent gypsies in the woods."

"Gypsies! Good Lord, Holmes, you do keep the strangest company!" laughed the General.

"Yes, I suppose I do, but I would love to question Girard himself on his doings in the woods."

"Say what you want, Holmes. You won't get a word out of the devil. He's much too proud to reveal his secrets. He thinks we're all inferior to him and whatnot."

"Yes, but I think with some persuading…"

"You need my permission to question him, is that it?"

"Yes."

"No worries. Just tell the keep I sent you, and I'll write him a letter! But don't you dare set foot within his cell, Holmes! That's where I draw the line!"

"I'm sure Sherlock will have the common sense to remain outside the cell," Sara said, giving Holmes a pointed look. A muscle in her jaw twitched slightly at the mention of her friend's murders and at the thought of Holmes speaking to the man who had caused them.

"Ahem. But of course," shrugged Holmes, "Why would I wish to share a cell with a murderer?"

The General gave Holmes a look and began to laugh, slapping Holmes on the back again and reaching for Sara's hand.

"Sara Black, your company has been such a pleasure, but I see a glass floating over there with my name on it. I hope to see you accompanying Holmes more often to our little parties. Good evening, Dear."

He kissed the back of her hand and departed, pinker in the face the closer to the glass he came.

"He's charming," Sara said, pressing close to Holmes.

"At least he wasn't crass," responded Holmes, "What say you to vacating this event?"

"Yes, please. These people are making me nervous," she said, slipping her arm into his.

Holmes thanked Governor Bragge for inviting them once more, and then he led Sara from the building. A cab took them back to Sara's shop. Holmes was silent and reclusive during the ride back, smoking his pipe and when spoken to only making a grunting noise to show he'd heard.

Sara kissed his cheek when they arrived and whispered into his ear, "Je t'aime."

She stepped out of the cab. Holmes watched her walk away with a stunned expression. He made the driver wait until she was safely in her shop before they departed for Baker Street, and Holmes found that he slept quite nicely that night.

Sara curled up beneath one of her fur blankets and slept heavily as well, a small smile on her face as she dreamed.

_**R&R please. I want to know what you like so I can write more of it! Thank you!**_


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